


Marked

by Hmmlingle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, a little creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hmmlingle/pseuds/Hmmlingle
Summary: Getting captured by an evil madwoman isn't fun. Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of Cal's troubles.





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> A short story I came up with while brainstorming for my original one I'm creating. It's not canon, though I wish it was, so I thought I'd share. Sorry if its confusing, i didnt bother to add backstory.  
> First time on ao3 :) wish me luck and enjoy!

Cal could feel Ajax carrying out his apology more in his actions than his words. He cleaned the wounds thoroughly, dabbing them with moist rags and gently working out the small pebbles and dirt embedded in them. Cal leaned his head on the table in front of him and closed his eyes as Ajax worked; he was quite good at it, and soon they were looking and feeling a lot better, but he still worried at the wound around its edges. Cal had a feeling that the extreme care he was taking wasn’t completely necessary, but he sat still and allowed Ajax to deliver his apology. When it was done, Ajax slid his hands a little down Cal’s bare back and then removed them, and Cal’s mind was brought back to how he got the wounds in the first place.  
He had been in Liznel’s clutches, completely at her mercy and alone, hands bound to the wall, and she held a knife.  
“You know, this is the exact same thing that I did to your little friend. The useful one,” she said conversationally as she ripped through his shirt, exposing his back. “I marked him. His shoulders are a bit broader than yours, so I think I won’t do as much on you. Actually, he was a great canvas.” He felt the sharp edge of the blade press against his skin and tried not to flinch, but did anyway. “Yes, he was my canvas and his scars are my artwork.”  
Then she had done some ‘artwork’ on Cal’s back, and he was thankful that it had only been on one shoulder. After that he’d gotten knocked in the head pretty hard so it was somewhat a blur, but he’d been trussed up in ropes and dragged through a forest, and Ajax was there. Then there had been a bargain, and after a few minutes it was only Cal and Ajax in the forest.  
Cal had been beyond grateful to have Ajax there, but all Ajax had done was shoot him a cold look, turn, and walk away. He hadn’t even helped Cal up, or cut his bonds, or even said anything. He’d just looked and left, leaving Cal to struggle to his feet and stumble after him, still discombobulated and confused and now very hurt. He’d still been hurt when they got to the barn, where all of a sudden Ajax had turned caring. Cal hadn’t appreciated it.  
“I’m fine,” Cal had said harshly, pulling away.  
Ajax kept him from walking away with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said back there, and I should have told you that as soon as she was gone.” Cal hadn’t quite been all there when the bargaining had been happening, but he was unpleasantly surprised by the fact that there was more to apologize for. Actually, Cal was more surprised that for once Ajax was apologizing at all.  
“You could have done anything. Anything! A touch, a word!”  
“I know, I’m sorry. But she was watching, and if I did anything to show that I really cared, who knows what she’d do to you.”  
“A look, Ajax. A glance.”  
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry.”  
Cal turned away, bitterness seething in him. He was barely keeping himself from yelling that an apology wouldn’t be good enough, and that if Ajax had any human decency there wouldn’t be anything to apologize for in the first place.  
“Let me clean your wound, please,” Ajax said softly.  
Cal hadn’t been planning on letting Ajax talk anymore much less touch him, but it was the ‘please’ that changed his mind. In all their time together, not once had Ajax ever said please, even when he ought have and they both knew it. It took all the wind out of Cal’s sails to here it now. Coming from Ajax, one ‘please’ was practically begging.  
So he had relented, and Ajax had apologized with his actions. Cal got the feeling that he wasn’t used to doing it verbally.  
“I’m finished,” Ajax said.  
Cal lifted his head up, brought out of his reverie. He didn’t speak for a long time and Ajax stood there, clearly uncomfortable, but didn’t walk away.  
“Can I see your back?” Cal asked finally.  
Ajax paused, expression phasing into an unreadable mask, but his posture gave him away. He froze, all shifting stopping abruptly. For a moment Cal was afraid that he had overstepped his boundaries, but then Ajax silently took the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Cal highly doubted that he would have agreed if he hadn’t still been apologizing.  
His back was riddled with criss-crossing scars that ranged from his shoulders all the way to his waist line. Cal couldn’t help but visibly wince at the sheer amount, much less how deep Liznel must have cut to leave such scars, and was glad that Ajax couldn’t see his reaction. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like; he had gotten a mere taste of what this told him she could do.  
“I assume that Liznel told you about her ‘artwork’?” Ajax asked.  
“Yes.” How could she think that this was even close to beautiful? It was marring perfectly sculpted muscles with ugly reminders of pain and suffering.  
Cal reached up to trace a long scar that wound down Ajax’s shoulder to the small of his back, but drew away when he flinched at the touch. Tentatively, Cal tried a second time. He did not flinch again.  
Ajax put his shirt back on, and Cal did the same. He vaguely wondered what else he could get Ajax to do while he was still apologizing.  
“What else did she tell you?” Ajax asked.  
“That she’s marked us,” Cal replied. He didn't want to think about what exactly the marks were supposed to mean.  
“Well, she hasn’t.” His eyes burned defiance. “They don’t mean a thing.”  
And when he said it like that, they didn’t.


End file.
